infinitesimal
by cosmonaut00
Summary: A ghost. A demon. An angel. What do all of these three beings have in common? They're trying to stop The Apocalypse 2: Electric Boogaloo. Also, the angel and demon try and figure out their feelings for each other, while the ghost tries to figure out how to get home. (Based on Good Omens TV show, I'm reading the book soon, though!)
1. The End Was Just A Disguised Beginning

Agnes Nutter knew as she wrote down her last prophecy that the world was going to End. The world that she had grown accustomed too went dark, too— her vision was beginning to fade. It was a right payment, for her sight to fail just as her Sight ends.

But then she sees a small spark— the corners of her vision have gone completely black, charred out like the edges of paper that had been caught in a blaze. The small spark grows, and she sees a world—

A world after The End.

She doesn't know how it is possible—her vision and her Vision were both fading, but there it was. The End was not merely The End—perhaps, it was The End of one world and The Beginning of a new? Rome had fallen. But it survived, somehow. And so did the world, no matter what was thrown at it.

It's a small spark, and she reaches out to it, delicately, like holding a newborn baby. The ineffable plan of the universe seemed to get a lot more confusing— and for Agnes, a lot more interesting.

The vision settled in her skin, and she saw it. She saw a beautiful girl, with the same magic as hers, and Agnes knew immediately then that this was her kin. She sat in a large field, accompanies by another boy, the Witchfinder, with a small fire burning. Papers are thrown into the fire— _prophetic_papers. Not the book she'd worked so hard on to complete, all the years of her life that ends at The End. But it's Agnes' own work. Does the universe plan for her to write another? It was to go up in flames, nonetheless, but she didn't question the sign from her visions.

The paper sparked in the fire, sending embers in the air— and even though her Vision begins to fade as her blood and her enemies' blood, now entangled in love that rivaled the heavens, new sparks began to form.

It was beautiful, but also on a horrifying level Agnes had never experienced.

Her visions would always come from little sparks of light, little stars. One at a time they would greet her, sometimes two or three consecutively, the most coming when it got closer to The End and ending with her vision fading.

But they surrounded her. She was drowning in their lights, illuminating her world, in a sea full of stars. They had no order, no line, no sense of direction, floating aimlessly through the sky. _This is after The End_, Agnes knows, she feels it deep in her soul and it terrifies her to think that each of these visions happen, but in what order?

As a spark draws near, she reaches out to it, her palm open. A few float closer, but one lands, and she sees two figures, sitting on a bench, in a field but not a field— oh, a park. People in the future had such weird names she never understood. She recognized them, instantly— the angel and the demon, the ones who swapped faces to face the torment of the fire and the flood. They survived; Agnes felt a sigh of relief.

The vision ended. The world came back to her in clarity but also not, Agnes was floating in the sea of the night sky but also on the ground in her lovely old cottage.

She knew there were only a few more moons until the Witchfinder would come. She knew there were only a few more moons before the village she'd known her entire life, the one she was born in and the one she raised her children in, would come to an end.

Agnes knew that they had all the time in the world after The End, but she was on a tight schedule.

Well, then.

She grabbed what she could find and began writing down what she could see.

* * *

_There will be an Accident, and from it will come a boy who will walk between both Life and Death._

You see, the Apocalypse may have been prevented, and the world was living on, but certain inhabitants did not approve of such a matter. Angels and demons, both Heaven and Hell, were ready to fight in the war, a war that had taken nearly six thousand years to begin, and then it was stopped, by two of their own, and the damn Antichrist himself.

But on that day in England, when all was not right with the world, another event was happening right across the waters of the Atlantic.

His name was Daniel Fenton—though, he preferred Danny. He was a skinny, lanky boy, who had just turned fourteen and who had just begun his journey through his own personal hell known as _high school. _Despite being rather shy and a loner, he did have two good friends by his side, the best in the whole world.

Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley. Sam (as she preferred, or those incurring her wrath would be met with a boot to the foot, the shin, the face, or other unfortunate places) and Tucker and Danny were bound tight by their friendship. The trio was strong, their friendship was built on a solid cornerstone preventing it from toppling. They were with him, on that day that the world was ending.

(Not that any of them knew it. They'd thought the story of Atlantis being found, like most people, was a gag for a cruise ships, and storms appearing in England were evidence of global warming, not The End.)

All three of them were holed up in Danny's home, watching movie after movie on Netflix. The day was rainy in Amity Park as well, where the trio and their families took up home. There were few places that were indeed, truly sunny on that day during The End. Danny's parents were out of town on a college trip with his older sister, leaving the trio to the home themselves.

Something to note about Danny's family—they were paranormal investigators. Ghost hunters. Supernatural scientists— seen as crazy and insane in the eyes of the public. After all, no evidence for ghosts had ever surfaced in their thirty-plus years of being in the science. There was no belief in ghosts, just as belief in God and Heaven and Hell began to fade from humanity. In the two years leading up to that date, Danny's parents built a "portal" to what the dubbed as "The Ghost Zone", where ghosts existed.

Ghosts did exist in their own, separate dimension, just as you and I might. But that is not relevant to the story. What is relevant, however, is Sam's interest in ghosts.

"Fine. We can have a look." Danny never liked his parents' obsession with ghosts. If there was a social ladder at his school, Danny would be six feet underground and still digging. It would _haunt_him forever, if you will. But Sam (and Tucker, too) wanted to see the infamous portal to the Ghost Zone.

Which, due to a few misplaced wires and buttons, didn't work.

They entered the lab, hidden in the basement of the Fenton family townhouse, just as a group of kids rode their bikes onto a military base in England. All of these events coincided with The End.

The End was not, just as Agnes had seen years before, _the end of everything. _No, it was more of a metaphorical End, an End to an old life and the Beginning of a new life. God, the universe, whatever you may believe in, had grown bored of watching human life grow exponentially into rather monotone, dull lives. Even with an angel and a demon dancing circles around their feelings for each other, six thousand years of the same routine can be boring for Her.

So, everything was going according to her Ineffable Plan. That is, the End of an era. The beginning of a new one was next.

Danny Fenton zipped himself into his hazmat suit, the one that had been made by his mother months before if he "ever got interested in the family business". It was a dull white and black, with a belt that looped around his waist and large pockets he requested solely because he planned on using it for his Halloween costume, and large pockets meant he could carry more candy that year.

Adam Young found himself in front of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse—War. Famine. Pollution. Death. But he also found himself surrounded by his friends—his own horsemen. He was the Antichrist and he could feel reality bend between his toes, they could be his own horsemen if he wanted to.

Danny Fenton stepped inside a machine his parents built, his two friends standing outside and staring at the strange technology in awe.

All the horsemen were dead, sans for Death, who fled in a hurry as Famine took a knee and fell to the power of a bright, flaming, angelic sword.

There were loose wires all over the portal inside.

Time froze, for a second, and Adam found himself next to the two strange adults—an angel and a demon, an unlikely duo, the voices in his head told him—and he was told his father was coming. His "ethereal" father—Satan, Lucifer _himself._

His foot got caught in a mess of wires. They were never organized in his house, and he leaned his hand against the wall to free it.

_"You are not my dad!"_

_Click. _

The world began to change. It Ended, but it also Began.

* * *

Though Adam Young relinquishes most of his powers (a bit of magic is left in him, still, a reminder of who-and-what he is, along with an eleven-year-old being given magic to bend reality is not going to wish _all _of it away, just most of it) and resets time to how it was before The End, it does not change a few things.

One; Danny Fenton is in the hospital. His pulse and breathing are low, but he sits up among doctors, poking and prodding him to make sure that, despite what they can see, he is truly okay.

Two; the angel known as Aziraphale and the demon known as Crowley are no longer related to their respective causes. A mini-adventure in its own and switching bodies did the trick to fool Heaven and Hell that they were both _more_than angel and demon, immune to both hellfire and holy water. They still are, angel and demon, for the most part. Neither of them want to point out the small flecks of other colors in their wings, how the black wings of Crowley sparkle iridescent colors like a puddle of oil when the light hits them, or how Aziraphale's wings sparkle silver and gold and like freshly fallen snow. It would be facing a new reality, and it wasn't time for that yet.

Three; the world had already changed in a way that even the Antichrist couldn't change.

And finally, four; Agnes Nutter was witness to prophetic visions that changed, suddenly. She no longer saw time on a linear sense, she was able to see time as it truly was, an ocean of lights with moments from different times and different timelines floating all around her. And though her book of new prophecies may have been burned after The End, there was someone who had owned the book herself, just as the Device family had owned it. The only difference was, the book was hidden.


	2. Puzzle Pieces and Angels Lie

It was a rare spring day in England. The air was warm, and the sun shone brightly in the sky. Aziraphale was tempted to take one of his newest acquired books—an original copy of a story he'd never heard before, of a boy who finds himself in the middle of a war. A coming-of-age story, and if it is truly as entertaining as the seller of the book promised it was, would make a good gift to Adam.

He still had two hours to go, though, in his small little book shop, though it was more of a muddy goal than any set thing. His precious books, the old ones and original copies he looked hard for, were always in the back, safe and sound and away from prying eyes, but Aziraphale had to do something between his simple existence of reading, eating lunch with Crowley, and being in love with the world and with the humans God Herself put in place. Despite the fact that he was an angel and could miracle up everything he wanted, including money, there was something satisfying about working at a shop and earning money the right way, and not materializing it out of existence.

(Though, sometimes the voice of the demons in Hell as he laid in the bathtub of holy water in Crowley's body echoed sometimes. _He's gone native. _What that meant, Aziraphale didn't know. He also didn't want to focus on it.)

A few customers stopped in, taking in the sights of the old books. The awe and love that the angel felt off the humans washed away any adverse thoughts he'd had before. Two younger humans, teenagers or young adults, both took out their cell phones and began to take photos of themselves amongst the old bookshelves.

_Maybe I should get one, _he thought to himself, glancing at the old landline he'd got only because Crowley made him get it. A cell phone would certainly have its uses. It reminded him too much of heaven, as well, and shrugged the idea off again (like water falling off a duck).

After the last of the customers had left and another hour had passed, Aziraphale decided that he was going to close early, the beautiful day in London was calling and he couldn't sit still. He miracled away most of the mess that had before closing the door and beginning his walk through the city.

(It always left him wondering- should he still call it a "miracle"? Yes, while it was true that Aziraphale was still an angel—at least, he felt like one and never felt like he'd "Fallen" and lost any Grace—he also noticed the way his feathers glimmered in the sunlight in a different way. It wasn't Adam who had done it, it was something else.)

Unsurprisingly, Crowley met him there. St. James' Park was one of their favorite places to go. Though Crowley all but ignored the book that Aziraphale was trying to read and began complaining about something menial and something human.

It was at those odd times that he realized that they had all the time in the world, but _nothing to do in it._

Aziraphale allowed Crowley's story of some menial complaint go through his head as he stared off and froze. He blinked, a few times, recognizing a familiar figure staring at him from a distance with bright, yet brooding eyes the color of the purple flowers blooming around. It'd been months since he'd last seen that face, and it wasn't _him_ that had seen it but _him_ through the eyes of Crowley.

"And then, she had the balls to—Angel, are you even listening?" Crowley nudged him. "What are you—"Crowley doesn't finish the sentence, and Aziraphale feels him bristle up next to him. "The hell is that bastard doing here?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "He keeps looking at me, I think. Should I approach him and see what it's about?"

"God—Satan—_Someone_, no." When you're a disenfranchised demon, you don't know exactly whose name to curse on. "What if…"

They both knew exactly what followed. Aziraphale could imagine it in his head, a vicious cycle of nightmares that could happen if he got up and followed. Burning hellfire, _an immortal death_. He wouldn't have Crowley to help him, they wouldn't be together, like this, on a sunny afternoon in London—

"He can't take both of us on at the same time, you think?"

"Crowley—he's, he's an _archangel." _Yet the word doesn't surprise the demon at all. He didn't even flinch, only glance over his sunglasses.

(And, then again, what are _they_, now?)

"And what of it?" Aziraphale gave him _the look_, and the demon sighed. "Let's go somewhere else then."

Aziraphale smiled, but as they stood up and he tucked his book under his arm, there was the archangel _fucking_ Gabriel, in all of his holy glory. It was blinding, a bit, more than it had ever been before. But he didn't flinch. Neither did Crowley.

"I come in peace. For now." Gabriel held his hands out, proving to both of them that he's unarmed. Not like he has a stash of weapons in an ethereal place only _he_ can reach. Aziraphale immediately put his sword in his little pocket as soon as he'd gotten it back, and he could reach it anytime.

"What do _you_ want?" Crowley is much too casual about the incident, in Aziraphale's opinion.

"I just want to know. Have either of you seen a human teenager, about… this tall—" Gabriel motions to just above his bicep as he speaks. "- with black hair, blue eyes?"

"Um… No?" It was a peculiar question. Aziraphale didn't look at every human he passed, but just like any other angel (and demon, though he doesn't know for sure) he felt them. Felt their emotions, surrounding him in a small bubble of warmth. There was an omniscient power, both shared by angels and demons, but not to the extent that God had. And nobody matching that description had passed.

Or, if they did, Aziraphale and Crowley didn't take notice, because a lot of people passed them every day.

"Is this a cult thing?" Crowley asked, his sunglasses tipping over his nose, exposing the golden, snake-pupiled eyes to just the angel. .

"No." Gabriel said. It's too quick, too sudden—angels aren't very good liars. Everyone knows that to be true. But there was something off about the abrupt response, the curt and quick "no" that sets off warning bells. It was something to do with heaven, and another human. Last time that happened, it was to do with the Antichrist. But what could it be, now?

"We haven't seen anything." Crowley said, before grabbing Aziraphale by the arm. "C'mon, let's go."

That does leave Aziraphale uncomfortable. Angels and humans didn't interact much—he was the outsider, the seldom one who _did_, the outcast. What was an angel—and at that, an archangel, Gabriel himself—doing with a human? A human teenager, a—a _child_?

"I don't think they're doing anything good." Aziraphale said as soon as they were out of the park.

* * *

Danny was incredibly, inevitably, inconceivably _fucked._

Of course. Of course, it had to happen to him, the one person in the world it seems the universe is universally against. Whether it's an angry God or misaligned planets or whatever astrology nonsense Sam got interested in for a hot minute a month ago and dropped because it got trendy with the A-Listers on Twitter. It seemed that, no matter what controlled the world, it had a problem with him.

Angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell. He'd learned more in the past day and a half about a sudden, new world that he should've known about but wasn't graced with the knowledge of it. Of course.

He hunches down behind a dumpster, hearing an echo of footsteps out of the alley. There's a large scrape on his chest that's bleeding and he's trying to put pressure on it and hoping that as a human whatever scent he has is at least slightly less stinky than what he smells like as a ghost.

Angels. Demons. Heaven. Hell. Apparently, when you die and become a ghost, there's some innate knowledge kept secret from humans that awakens upon death. He should've known that stuff, but he's only half-dead. It never worked out in his favor.

The footsteps paused, and Danny froze, holding his breath. He didn't know how long he could hold it. He didn't _want_ to learn. It's definitely an angel, Danny can tell, one of the ones that were after him. One of the strong ones—their auras, their energies, whatever it was, after being in Heaven he could _feel_ them now. Great, just what he needed, _more_ weird powers.

"We will find you, _halfa._" Hearing the nickname he'd gotten from ghosts on the tongue of an angel hunting him down made his blood boil. He bit his hip hard enough to taste a bit blood. "Working on our side, compared to the other, will be much better for you. I'd appreciate if you cooperated."

Footsteps echoed again but in the opposite direction. The aura of the angel—_Gabriel, his name was Gabriel- fades_ off. Once it's a considerable distance away, Danny allows himself to slide down the side of the dumpster and catch his breath.

He hadn't had a second to, after being kidnapped by literal angels. His body was messed up because of jet lag, traveling across the Atlantic via _ethereal magic_ or whatever it was did not do kindly to him, either. Maybe Humans weren't supposed to be in heaven, either.

This is how it happened; he was enjoying his weekend with Sam and Tucker. Ghost attacks had calmed down for some reason he didn't know, and Danny was able to feel like a normal kid again. Sure, having ghost superpowers was cool and all, but he wasn't quite a ghost, and not quite a human. He didn't fit in anywhere, anymore.

Especially when a man with purple eyes walked up to him and asked him about the local ghosts, before abducting him in _broad daylight_. Sam and Tucker didn't even protest. Two more figures stepped out of nowhere and snapped their fingers and Sam and Tucker froze, unresponsive. The world didn't hear his calls as Danny was gagged and blindfolded.

Then he woke up in Heaven.

Danny had always thought of himself as an atheist. He didn't truly believe in anything in particular—not that he didn't think anything was out there, or that he believed in science and logic, but mostly to set himself apart and away from the wacky scientists he saw his family was. Then The Accident happened, and maybe Danny's eyes opened a bit more to that.

Yeah, there's life after death, he learned. Danny himself was a paradox of living and death, didn't really know what he was but only knew that it was a _new thing_, something that existed in the number-two, the other being Vlad. Maybe, he thought at some point, there were werewolves and vampires and other monsters that haunted the dark or the autumnal streets of Halloween.

But Heaven? Heaven, God, Angels, Demons? He definitely wasn't expecting _that_. And heaven wasn't the pearly white gates he'd heard talked about in elementary school by teachers who "didn't force religion on the kids" but still talked about it anyway. It was corporate. It was wide, expansive, empty. Angels had wings but also hoverboards and smartphones. Windows opened up to a beautiful view of a city—London, he later recognized.

And they were not nice, either.

He was used to being looked down upon. Ghosts thought of him as _weak, human, living_, humans thought of him as _weak, creepy, weird_, and the only other person like him in the world wanted to kill his father and marry his mom. Which was, for a young fourteen-year-old boy, enough trauma to have already.

But when angels, who were supposed to be beacons of light, beings that he didn't even know existed until just a few moments before, treated him the same way as ghosts and humans? Danny might've lost faith in the world.

_But there are always exceptions_, a voice rang out in his head. He had his friends, he had Sam and Tucker. He had Valerie, kind of. Half the time. And he had Dora and Frostbite and Clockwork and peaceful ghosts who never did Amity harm. Exceptions.

Angels still sucked, though.

Apparently, there was some sort of Armageddon planned, and the world was supposed to end, and he was now _Plan B. _A _weapon_ to use against Hell. They threw a lot of plans at him, from involving possessing someone called "the antichrist" to "waltzing down to Hell and causing chaos", but _weapon_ rung out in his mind. It echoed.

Naturally, Danny decided to nope out of there, but Heaven isn't where he thought it was. It wasn't some pearly white gates in the clouds, it was an empty office building somewhere in London that was completely devoid of any kind of emotion or love.

And now that he's in London, without a phone or any way to get home, and he's certain there are angels everywhere looking for him. Maybe demons, too. Great. _Great. _

Just another day in the life of Danny _fucking _Fenton.

* * *

**Hello! Since has a very impersonal way of dealing with responding to reviews, I'll be doing them here at the bottom of the chapter! Easier to skip over if it isn't your cup of tea, but if you leave a review I will respond! Probably in an annoyingly verbose pattern, but that's just how your bud Cosmo is! (Cosmo is me. I am Cosmo. Hello.)**

**Guest: They're not together. _Yet_. Or have they always been together? *thinking emoji* As of chapter two, they are not "together" as we would see a couple being, but they are often coexisting "together" in the same place. Does that make sense? ;)**

**Anonymous: Oh, hello! And you're welcome for introducing you to the wonders of Good Omens :D The series is 100% worth a watch, you can get through everything in one night (if you don't mind staying up until, like, 12 am watching a show), and I'm sure there are... alternative sites where you could find the show, if you do not have an Amazon Prime account to use. 11/10 would reccomend. (Also thank youuu 3)**

**Well, see you guys in the next chapter! **


	3. Always Have A Backup For Your Work, Kids

Agnes Nutter saw it happen right before her eyes, the small spark showing her the world after The End- Anathema_. Burning. Fire._ Right after she'd spent months working on it. There were other visions intermingled with it, too._ Burning two copies. Burning one copy, keeping another copy. Not knowing about two copies. Not burning anything, enjoying a picnic. Accidentally setting the grass on fire. Not being on a picnic. _

That's what had been bothering her about her visions, after The End. There were many, almost as if time itself shatters after _the boy the angel the demon the devil the Adversary the denial the rebirth the existence_—right after that, the world split. Not once, not twice, but into infinite possibilities. Shuffling through those visions had been hard, writing them down proved more _difficult_, and organizing them was a mess of its own. There were many sparks, surrounding her, and she could only pray to the Heavens that this divine power was being used properly, for this time, for this universe.

She didn't understand where the thoughts first came from. Her powers, her magic, existed to the point of challenging the Ineffable Plan. She knew things she shouldn't—Agnes knew of a plan that was divine, she knew it existed, but details of it were left murky to her. Agnes knew, too, of the names of things and people she shouldn't, and she knew—

She knew of the other worlds. Other universes? God had Her handful, it seemed.

Agnes had put in a request for a copy of her work to be made, but under a different name. Under something inconsequential, something that could hide in publication for years until people noticed when it was required. Until it fell into the hands of who needed it—and she saw what it was meant to be called, and she took the other parchment she had gathered and wrote down the name.

_A Guide to The World Of The Spirits._

It seemed simple enough. She saw the owner of the book, years in the future, a girl with hair of fire and name of a flower. She wrote down her first prophecy, the first _true_ prophecy down, for this girl of fire and flower. Hopefully, the book would find itself in the presence of its true owner and fade away from the illusion spell she had placed upon it.

* * *

Jasmine Fenton, too, has a role in this story. Not in being Danny's elder sister, though that also tied her to the destiny of the universe as a whole.

She'd known, during her mother's early years, that one single book had brought her mother closer to the world of ghosts—of spirits, of the Ghost Zone and ectobiology. She'd even read the book, but it never made sense to her. Ghosts never made sense to her. She never enjoyed them.

Until her younger brother was in the accident, and Jazz decided that he needed to be as far away from it as possible. The Accident, as the Fenton family had called it before avoided the topic completely, could have _traumatized_ him! She could only imagine the fear that Danny would develop of technology, and she had seen it as he avoided the lab completely, until the first ghost came out of the Fenton Portal and terrorized their town of Amity Park.

Looking back, it was obvious her brother was the so-proclaimed "Phantom". How it worked, Jazz didn't know, and as much as she wanted to find out, she didn't want to push him to reveal his secret to her, or anybody. She'd stumbled upon him transforming into a ghost in an alley, after all. It was an accident, a fluke—and she'd keep her knowledge secret, too.

And then he'd come up to her with the Fenton Boo-merang (and Jazz noted that Danny _and_ Phantom got the pun-loving from their father at that moment, too) with her headband tied to it, and a note. She didn't remember writing the note, and her headband was wrapped around her hair still. There was a brief moment of silence between them, before they hugged. She squeezed him a bit too much, but he didn't need to breathe as much anymore so she slid away with it.

Jazz tried to help with "ghost-hunting", but it wasn't for her. The front lines weren't what she was meant for. That was fine- her head was better being devoured in a book, after all. She raided the bookshelves of her parents, full of textbooks on _Ghost Theory_ and _Ectoplasmic Science and Biology _and read every word, studied every paragraph break and took notes.

_Ghosts are real, _she replied, when her parents asked about her sudden interest. _I want to know about them so I don't, um, accidentally anger them? _

But this book, now sitting in front of her, wasn't what she was expected. It was the last book—the climax of her search of her parent's (small) library. One she'd read before and never understood.

_A Guide to the World of Spirits._

The book was old—older than, no doubt, the building she existed in, and perhaps the town itself. How her parents got their hands on it, Jazz couldn't figure out. She opened it and was greeted with the smell of old books, of decaying paper and a warm feeling, like curling up in a large chair in a bookstore and devouring a book from cover to cover. Not a feeling she'd ever had before.

She flipped to the first page.

_The world of spirits is highly debated—_

As Jazz began to read, the words began to fade. Not disappear from her view completely, but instead, the words began to diffract like they would if the book was submerged in water. They wobbled in and out, before rearranging themselves to form a different language.

This wasn't _normal. _This wasn't science, either—this was something else. Ghostly power? Magic?

No, Jasmine didn't believe in magic. She understood ghosts were _science_ and _fact_ and logic, it is what her parents studied their whole lives.

But this seemed like magic, especially as the words rearranged and read this;

_Girl of fire and of flower, hear my plea—_

_Thyne brother has been taken to a land across the sea_

_Forces of Heaven and Hell plan to cause a Great War again,_

_And the boy who walks between life and death may be the catalyst of The End _

She dropped the book, her memory racing. When was the last time she'd seen Danny? It'd been—it'd been two entire days. Two days of her memory, of her brother, suddenly disappeared. He hadn't snuck in and out when she wasn't watching, he hadn't flown out invisibly.

He had been taken? She didn't notice. "Fuck," she said, picking the book up, carefully. The cover had changed, too.

_The Second Book of Mostly Accurate Prophecies by Agnes Nutter, Witch_

Her phone was out faster than she'd ever pulled it out. She had Sam and Tucker's numbers and dialed whichever one came up first.

_"Jazz? What's up?" _Tucker's voice echoed on the other end, and she heard Sam in the background, too. They were outside somewhere.

"Have you seen Danny?"

_"What? No, he called us and told us he wasn't coming to school today. Said he was sick." _Tucker explained. _"Hold on." _There was shuffling, and the background noise dulled and quieted. _"What's wrong?"_

"He's been taken."

_"What? How?" _Sam's voice echoed the same time as Tucker's.

"I—I don't know. I was reading this book and suddenly the words changed and said he was somewhere else, and…" She stuttered, cursing under her breath. "When was the last time you two saw him?"

_"Uh, two days ago. Saw him Phantom out, and…" _Tucker trailed off. _"…He turned into Phantom, and, uh… Shit. Sam?"_

_"I… I don't know, either," _Sam said, on the other end. _"Shit. Damn. What's happening? Why can't I—why can't _we_ remember anything?"_

Jazz pulled the book back up into her face. Two words stuck out to her.

_Heaven._

_Hell._

"Oh, Danny, what did you get yourself into?" Jazz asked aloud, before sighing and cursing. Again. This isn't how she wanted her Friday to go. "Where are you guys right now?"

_"Sam just got out of Eco Club, and we were going to head out to the Nasty Burger."_ Tucker responded.

"I'll meet you guys there." She began digging for her keys, holding the phone to her face with her shoulder. She'd dropped her keys down just moments ago, coming home, and—oh, they were under her bed, somehow. Kicked, in the shock of reading the book, perhaps. She tucked the book under her arm. "We need to figure this out."

* * *

Samantha "Sam" Manson was furious.

She was constantly furious, but at a lot of things. She was furious at the current state of American politics. That people couldn't love who they wanted to love. When people called her _Samantha_ instead of _Sam. _That the world was on fire and dying, and no one with the power to do anything seemed to care. That Tucker was eating another meat-heavy burger—though she'd figured that he'd come around eventually, at least, and that was the one thing she could affect.

She was also furious at her lapse in memory. How had that _happened_? There was a blank spot in her mind, as if something just _froze _it. No memories, and she never even thought twice about it.

It wasn't like any ghost they'd come across before. The only ones who could do something of this power—Desiree, if someone made a wayward wish. But she would usually be around to cause more chaos. Clockwork, maybe? He had to do with time. But he was in the Ghost Zone, and even though Sam and Tucker had apparently met him before time got reset a while ago, he wasn't malicious. He would _tell_ them if Danny was needed elsewhere, right?

She stabbed again, at a fry on her plate.

"I don't think murdering any more French fries is going to help us find Danny."

"_Tucker." _The glare sent her friend's arms up in surrender, as they waited in a corner booth for Jazz to come in, with some _book_. They'd gotten a few more details out of her before she hung up before driving (very responsible, especially considering that their friend and her brother had seemingly disappeared out of thin air, even though it was a power of his) towards the fast-food chain.

She stabbed another fry. Her mind was screaming with thoughts. Jazz had suggested anger management, a while ago. Then she started hunting ghosts, became the human muscle of the team, and had something healthy to vent the anger out on.

"We'll find him. I'm tracking his phone, right now." Tucker didn't look up from his tablet as he took a large, disgusting bite of the NastyBurger™.

Sam nodded, glancing up to see a frightened red-head storm her way into the restaurant. Nobody blinked at the eccentrics of the Fenton family anymore, though a few wandering tourists gazed over as the frazzled girl made her way to the back corner.

She sat down immediately, placing the large book in front of her. "I think the book's thicker now, too. I don't know what's going on with this."

On top, it read _The Second Book of Mostly Accurate Prophecies by Agnes Nutter, Witch. _

Witch? Sam had heard rumors of witches truly existing, not just the ones she'd found online on _Tumblr_ with their crystals and herbs. True-blood witches, with magic abilities to boot.

"This book wasn't this yesterday." Jazz explained. "It was something about the Spirit world. I opened it, and, well, it changed. Can ghosts do that?"

Sam ran through her mental list of the ghosts they'd fought before. "I think there's a Ghostwriter. Don't know much about him except that he put Danny in the literal _Christmas Carol_."

Tucker nodded. "No ghosts match that description on my files, either." He repeated, holding up his tablet. "His cellphone isn't showing up anywhere in the States."

"Well, the first, uh…" Jazz hesitated, opening the book. "…'prophecy' says that he's in a land "_across the sea_"."

"England? Italy? Spain?"

"It doesn't say." She said, pushing the book closer for Sam to read.

She took a look at it—read the prophecy (that you already know, and that doesn't need repeated) listed on the first page. "Heaven? Hell?"

"I don't know if that's literally what it means, or if they're names for it. Prophecies are like that, at least, in the fiction I've read." Jazz said, stealing a fry off of Sam's tray.

Sam pushed the tray closer so they could share the large fries.

"Nothing in the Mediterranean." Tucker relayed, still not glancing up from his tablet. "Or Spain. Is that Mediterranean?" He shrugged, continuing with his work. How he managed to hack government satellites around the world off just an iPad was beyond Sam. She owned an iPhone 3GS, too many expensive phones had been broken in ghost-hunting and this one seemed to be a bit sturdier.

"Girl of fire and flower?" Jazz read aloud. "Is that—is that supposed to be _me_?"

"Well… Your name is a flower. Your hair is red." Sam pointed out. "Are there prophecies for every single day?" She flipped to a random page.

_The daughter of the night will ask if there be prophecies for every morning. To that I answer, ye._

"Huh. That answers that question." She stated. She flipped back to the first page. "Who's Agnes Nutter?"

Jazz shrugged. "A witch?"

"Yeah, duh. When was this written?" The book was old, like one of the books Sam would pick up in the little indie bookshop that existed on the corner of her street. The one where poetry slams were held, that she often dragged begrudging Danny and Tucker to at night, when there were few ghosts. The people there got a kick out of seeing _Phantom_ listen to poetry, sometimes.

The book didn't seem to have a date on it. All they knew is that it was really, _really _old. "So far, our only lead is an old book that apparently knows Jazz would pick it up and read the first prophecy, knew that I would leaf through the pages and see if it was real, and an empty hole in our memories?"

And fake memories. Fake memories that were fading into the voids of their mind.

(Fragile things, human memories were. Fragile things were memories created by ethereal and occult means, too. They never stuck in humans the way that they hoped, they could only hope that humans were too dumb to rationalize it themselves.)

"Ah—shit!"

"What?" Sam and Jazz glanced over at Tucker immediately after his reaction.

"I just had something in England pop up—London, I think. But it flickered out and isn't there."

London was a lead, at least.

* * *

Somewhere in London, Danny Fenton cursed that he lost his phone in his escape from Heaven. He hoped those white-winged bitches would _enjoy_ modern technology, seeing how empty the damn place was.

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